


The Protocol

by faerieswing



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Metal Gear scouting, Mission Fic, Philanthropy, discovery of feelings, technology failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerieswing/pseuds/faerieswing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one minute since Hal lost contact with Dave, thirty seconds since he first uttered, “shit,” and two minutes away from him beginning to panic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** The Protocol  
>  **Pairing:** Solid Snake/Otacon  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Notes:** A Philanthropy mission. There's a protocol for if they get disconnected, but Snake and Otacon have reasons for not following it. Takes place in the time between the Tanker mission and the Big Shell.

It was one minute since Hal lost contact with Dave, thirty seconds since he first uttered, “shit,” and two minutes away from him beginning to panic.

*

“Otacon, there’s a strange—“ Snake’s voice abruptly turned to static, a pulsing hum of grey noise. 

Otacon punched in a few key commands, muttering to himself as the signal failed to cut back in after a few moments. He looked around the room, scanning for anything out of the ordinary on his end. The plain room remained unchanged—its location about three miles from the Diebold industrial park outside Detroit. 

They’d broken their usual protocol of on-site support because Otacon was still recovering from a rough case of the flu; sufficient food and heating was a luxury they often were forced to go without, and Hal’s body never quite adjusted to such inconsistencies. Dave insisted that he could handle the simple scouting mission on his own, that Hal needed to stay in one place under piles of thrift store blankets. Delaying the mission wasn’t an appealing option: their intel was pressing enough that it made Dave anxious to scope out the warehouse in the center of the old industrial park. 

Hal made him promise to keep strictly to the shadows and engage only as a last resort, although that was essentially the same speech he always gave Dave before a mission. They had never been farther than a quarter mile away from each other when gathering evidence on metal gears; Hal was on edge. Even though he wasn’t exactly the greatest backup in terms of firepower, being nearby to help Dave gave him some sense of control. 

Now Otacon was frantically keying in commands, searching for any hint as to what severed their codec connection. 

“Come on, come on, no . . . no . . .” He coughed some, shaking his head back and forth. His breathing and heart rate were quickly increasing to match the worry in the pit of his stomach. 

He switched back to the radar screen, remembering with a jolt that he could see Snake’s movements there as well—at least see him if not hear him.

The radar feed was also frozen, the blue dot representing Snake flashing and unmoving, a tiny box off to the side flashing “disconnected.” 

Otacon slumped back in his chair, staring at the flashing dot. Dave. He couldn’t even get a read on his heart rate—the nanomachine connection had dropped as well. He was completely cut off, miles away. They never carried cell phones—Hal had always said they were too dangerous. He hit his forehead with the base of his palm, wishing they had some kind of backup, anything so he could quickly see if Snake . . . Dave was okay. He always anticipated these kinds of tech failures, of course, but he was usually right there, within radio range or even close enough to see his partner’s movements. 

Otacon continued to stare at his screen, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. He repeated to himself that there were a hundred different ways these technologies could fail, that it didn’t mean Snake wasn’t fine. _It’s Snake—he’s always fine._

Standing, he began to pace the room to help him think, but his head grew swimmy after only a few strides, his already weak stomach jumping around, threatening to climb into his chest. He sat back down and pounded on the keyboard again, searching. 

*

Snake pressed against a tree just outside the fence surrounding the warehouse. His heart beat was thudding hard in his ear, and he pressed against his left again, saying quietly, “Otacon . . . Otacon, are you there?” No reply, not even static. Snake dropped his arm hard against his side. “Shit.”

He felt the outline of the camera in his front pocket. He’d gotten photos of most of the park’s security cameras and lookout stations when his codec connection has gone out. Immediately, he’d turned around, running for safer cover in case guards showed up, in case they’d been noticed and cut off. He’d heard an odd buzzing noise, made mention of it to Otacon, but he’d quickly realized it was just a light bulb nearing the end of its life. 

Standing in the cold against the tree, everything quiet around him, Snake could tell no one had seen him. He waited one minute, then two—no sirens, no alerts, no dogs or search lights. Whatever happened hadn’t been from his end. Then Snake’s throat tightened. If it hadn’t been on his end . . . Hal. 

Snake put a finger to his ear again, chest tight. “Otacon, are you there? Otacon?” Nothing. Snake stood motionless for a few seconds, then took off in a sprint. 

*

Otacon’s fingers were flying against the keyboard and sweat was beginning to soak the back of his t-shirt under his arms. “What the hell could have done this?” he asked aloud to himself, scrolling through page after page of code, searching desperately for some kind of error he could make sense of. He switched back to the radar, the flashing blue dot remaining in the same spot. Hal cursed loudly and then pulled up a new menu. Otacon went to work quickly, hacking into a live feed of military satellites. 

He pulled up Enterprise Avenue, Detroit, Michigan, and zoomed in as far as the camera could go. He could see trees and nothing more. Then he typed in several more commands, shifted the camera 180 degrees and to the left a sixteenth of a mile. He could make out the warehouse, but no Snake. 

Hal let out a huge groan of anger and slammed shut his laptop, hands flying to his face. His shoulders shook with silent sobs—where the hell was Dave? Hal took two deep breaths, then sighed, flipping the laptop back open, fingers going back to the keys. 

*

Snake made it to the dark SUV—a favor from Nastasha. He hopped inside, tore out of the trees he’d parked in. He gripped the wheel hard, eyes straight ahead. 

The connection could have been traced, he thought. That was a very real possibility. Hal was stationary: a vulnerable target. Snake had left him with a weapon, but what reason did Hal have to keep it on him in their apartment? And even if he had, Snake had his doubts that Hal’s first instinct would be to fire if someone kicked in the front door. They would have busted in, disarmed Hal easily, or busted in and . . . 

Snake slammed both fists against the steering wheel. “Goddammit,” he yelled, pressing the gas pedal down as far as it would go. In his mind, he saw Hal slumped forward on his desk, his shirt going dark with blood, the blankets around him a deep red. 

*

Hal closed his laptop again, this time slowly. He stood up, needing to move in some way, his whole body flushing. He had to get out there, end of story. But Snake took the only vehicle they had access to. He knew he could probably hotwire a car in the neighborhood (he’d been watching some videos online and it seemed simple enough), but he also knew he’d be easily and likely spotted. He had to think.

A cab wasn’t totally out of the question, but he only had ten dollars cash on him. He quickly rifled through the cushions on the couch, then through the drawers in the bedroom, only coming up with seventy-two more cents and two petrified pretzel sticks.

Nastasha was in Massachusetts at the time, but she had some friends in the area, the ones who tipped them off on the warehouse in the first place. Hal went back towards his computer, but paused—if they were being watched, they could track Nastasha, too, if he contacted her. Stupid! Hal covered his mouth with one hand, stifling a shout. He felt completely helpless.

Walking over to the wall, he pressed his forehead against the plaster, slapping the wall with both palms. Images of Dave being beaten, Dave being shot, Dave lying dead on the freezing ground kept bombarding his mind. What if he never heard his voice again? Never watched him lean against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, listen to him make a crack about cooking abilities or ask for another cup of coffee? _Oh, God_. . . Hal’s heart hurt in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Here Hal was, safe in the apartment and he sent Dave out there all alone—what the hell was he thinking? How could he have let Dave do something so reckless? It was his job to keep him safe, but also grounded—keep him from taking stupid risks. How could he have dropped his guard this much? After he’d already nearly lost Dave once—found him half-dead in the Hudson River because he had trusted the intel too much? 

Hal sunk down to the floor, hands over his eyes, glasses tossed somewhere off to the side. What was he going to do except wait? They had a protocol: Hal was supposed to wait for Dave to contact him if they were ever separated, or make a run for it if he thought Dave had been captured. But where would he go? How would Dave find him? If he left, and Dave tried to call the secure line . . . 

*

Once Snake reached paved roads, he had to slow down some. He gritted his teeth as he toed the brakes. It wasn’t much farther to the apartment, but it felt a hundred miles away. Snake felt an urge to jump out of the car and run the rest of the way—at least then he would feel like his actions were aligning with the fury he was feeling. 

How stupid had he been? Leaving Hal behind, defenseless, sick, and a sitting fucking duck for whoever had caught onto them. They were probably just waiting for Snake to take off and he’d played right into their hand. _So fucking stupid!_ And for a scouting mission . . . _fucking idiot._

Snake punched the wheel three more times, his anger ebbing and the fear flooding back in. What had they done to Hal? Would they have taken him alive? Try to draw Snake to them? He paused—did they know Hal was the one thing that could lure him into something like that? That he’d run through fire for miles to get to his partner? That he’d sooner put a gun to his own head and pull the trigger than let anyone lay a finger on Hal? It was the one thing that could beat him—his fatal weakness. Snake had only known for about four months—a guarded secret—how could anyone else have found out? 

Running a red light, Snake veered off into an alley two blocks from their apartment. He ditched the car and took off on foot, sprinting through the backs of a couple buildings, dodging dumpsters and a couple stray cats. The air was crisp and so cold he could hear every little sound: he didn’t hear anything but normal nighttime chatter. He wasn’t sure if that relieved or scared him more. 

The thought of Hal’s face wincing in pain hit him again—Hal falling down, body limp—Hal being thrown in a van, tied up, and gagged—Hal not moving . . . Snake ran faster. 

He reached the back entrance of their building, his chest tight with apprehension. He eyed the area, noting nothing out of place or knocked over, but if Hal was unconscious, he wouldn’t be able to leave signs for Snake to follow. He narrowed his eyes, zooming in on only the task before him, trying to shut out all the images flying through his head. He needed to focus. 

The stairwell was quiet, no signs of blood on the carpet—just the usual trash, tracked-in leaves and dirt, a faint smell of urine. He took the stairs silently, hands ready to reach back and pull his silenced M-9 if necessary. He listened to the sounds of left-on televisions and radios, a few people talking, laughing—not that these types of guys made enough noise for the neighbors to take notice, not who they were likely dealing with. 

Their door was closed: no dents or scrapes or footprints that weren’t there before. Snake checked his left, his right, and pulled the M-9 from his belt. His throat, the backs of his eyes were hot, his stomach twisting despite all of his efforts to keep calm. He sucked in a breath and tried the handle. 

*

Hal was sitting on the floor, gritting his teeth as he tried to figure the best way out to the warehouse, out to Dave. He couldn’t wait—not when Dave could be hurt, might need him, might be . . . 

Hal’s chest tightened and he shook his head back and forth. No. He had to keep it together. 

When he heard the rattle of the doorknob, his glasses were still slightly out of reach. He froze, squinting at the door. He held his breath, slowly scooting over to grab his glasses, then standing quickly. He searched around for where he’d left the gun Dave gave him—if he couldn’t get out to the park, maybe he could scare some information out of whoever was after him. 

The lock slowly turned and Hal braced himself up against the wall. The gun must be in the kitchen. Or the bedroom. He bit his lip—too late now.

In one quick jerk, the door flew open and Hal gasped, seeing the M-9 first, coming around the doorframe. Hal squeezed his hands into fists and sucked in a breath. 

Then there was Snake—features tense, eyes steel, his posture ready to attack. Hal’s heart flew up into his throat, but he still couldn’t move or speak. His whole body was trembling. 

It took only seconds for Snake to melt away, Dave’s face settling into surprised relief. They stood for several seconds, staring at each other across the room before Dave kicked the door closed and rushed over to Hal, crushing him into a hug. 

“Hal,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with an emotion Hal rarely heard—fear. 

Hal clung to Dave, his heartbeat crazy in his chest. They didn’t say anything for several long minutes, just held on tight, Dave’s lips warm on the top of Hal’s head. Hal felt a stirring in his chest that was new. 

Finally, Dave half-whispered, “We need to get out of here.”

Hal nodded, his throat still too thick with emotion to talk. They pulled back slightly, Dave eyeing Hal’s face closely. “I thought you were hurt. It . . . it made me crazy.” 

Again, Hal could only nod, his face crumbling with his own remembered fear. He looked into Dave’s eyes, saw a hint of that craziness—the fierce protection—felt Dave’s warm grip on his arms. Hal’s knees went weak. _Oh_. Easy as that: the realization. 

Dave didn’t move, just kept eying Hal’s face. He moved in a little closer, slipped one hand around to rest on the small of Hal’s back, brought the other to the nape of his neck. Hal felt his cheeks grow hot. His lips parted slightly of their own accord as he stared at Dave’s. 

Then Dave closed his eyes, but instead of closing the gap between them, he shook his head quickly, puffing out a breath. He rubbed the back of Hal’s neck with his fingers, but said, “Come on . . . we need to go,” and released him. 

Hal scooped himself up off the floor, his head reeling. “Yeah . . . yeah, okay,” he agreed quietly. 

They quickly gathered their most important items and were out the door in less than seven minutes. Dave slammed cabinets and drawers, his brow tight, shoulders hunched. Hal could hardly breathe. 

Moving like he was in a dream, Hal followed Dave down the stairs, through the alleyway, past a few ladies on the walk home after work. They threw the few boxes of their belongings, Hal’s computer, in the back of the SUV. The bright light of the moon made both their faces shine blue. 

Dave slammed the back doors shut, then turned to Hal, watching him again, his eyes on fire, but also dark. Hal had never seen him like this. 

“Dave?” he asked, gripping the hem of his shirt. 

 

Dave’s eyes flickered for a moment and Hal thought he looked a little . . . scared? He couldn’t quite tell. 

“We’ll talk in the car,” he said in a low voice. Hal didn’t want to talk in the car—he wanted to talk right that second, wanted Dave to hold him again, look at him with those fierce eyes again—but he got in, sat quietly, waited. 

* 

Dave pulled away from their building. His stomach was churning from all the adrenaline and he knew his face must be red. There was a palpable heat radiating off Hal in the passenger seat; Dave felt Hal’s eyes on him, a deep stare. He didn’t know what to do. 

It was a dumb move. He almost kissed Hal back in the apartment—very nearly groaned with longing, with relief. He hadn’t expected to find Hal in one piece, perfectly fine, just a little shook up. The surprise faded his better judgment and now he had a different kind of situation on his hands. It looked like Hal was waiting for him to lean in, maybe even wanted him to, but Dave wasn’t sure—couldn’t be sure, not with how his mind and heart were firing. 

He gripped the wheel harder, peeked down at the gas gauge to make sure they could put a good distance between them and Detroit. They still didn’t know what had severed their connection, and really, wasn’t that priority number one? Dave’s stupid heart and stupid feelings needed to wait. 

They drove in heavy silence for almost thirty minutes. Dave was relieved at first that he had time to gather his thoughts, slow down, but the longer Hal was quiet, the more nervous he got. Had he just crossed an uncrossable line? 

Then, softly, Hal broke the silence. “Dave?”

“Mmhm?” Dave answered, not turning his head, staring hard at the road. 

“You weren’t supposed to come back to the apartment.”

Dave wasn’t expecting that response. “What?”

“The protocol. You were supposed to contact me somehow, not come back to the apartment, especially if you thought the location had been compromised.” Hal’s voice was hesitant, but it had an edge. 

“I didn’t have a way to contact you, remember?” Dave countered gruffly. 

“But still. You broke the protocol. Why?” 

Dave didn’t answer, instead brought a hand to his forehead. He rubbed at his temple, debating whether to tell the truth or bark back an answer he knew would shut Hal up. He quickly looked over at Hal—his face was half-lit by the yellow streetlamps, and he was staring right at him. Dave sighed, looked back to the road, bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t even remember to chide Hal for not fleeing the apartment. 

“I had to see if you were okay,” he answered simply. 

“Why didn’t you find a way to call the landline? Or send someone by to check the apartment?”

“Those weren’t options.”

“Sure they were.” 

Dave shook his head. “No. They weren’t.” 

“Then why?” Hal repeated the question Dave didn’t really want to answer. He was quiet about thirty seconds, a minute, then Hal spoke again, louder. “Dave? Why?” 

“Because I couldn’t wait that long.”

“Why?” Hal was more than half-way to yelling now. “Why couldn’t you wait?” 

“Because I just couldn’t!” Dave yelled back. “Because I couldn’t stop myself from speeding back there. I couldn’t.” Dave looked over again, finding that Hal had crossed his arms and was looking out the windshield. 

“I’m not going to ask you why again, Dave.” His voice was steady, but impatient. 

Dave grumbled, _dammit_ under his breath, hit the back of his head against the seat in frustration. “Because I care, Hal. About you. I care a lot about you and I couldn’t sit back and wait when I thought you were in trouble. I . . .” His voice dropped lower, his face and arms feeling numb. “I care more than you know.” 

Hal was silent, but Dave could feel his eyes on him again. Dave could hardly keep his eyes on the road; he wanted to punch the wheel, but he held back. 

“Find somewhere to pull over,” Hal said finally, and Dave thought he was going to scream. He’d really fucked it up this time. Irreversibly. 

He drove for about five more minutes, found a side road, pulled off and parked under some trees. He braced himself: Hal was about to walk out, he was certain. 

*

As soon as the car stopped, Hal unbuckled, lunged across the seat, and took Dave’s face in his hands. 

“Why didn’t you just say so?” he asked breathlessly. “Why didn’t you just say that?” He laughed, incredulous, and nervous. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

Dave looked back at him with wide eyes. He was clearly shocked. Of course he would doubt this. Of course Dave would only be cautious of the one person he never had to be. And of course Hal would have been oblivious to it all along. 

“Dammit, Dave,” Hal whispered. Then he leaned in, kissed Dave like he might never get the chance again. As Dave kissed back, Hal felt his chest split open and hundreds of swirling colors fly out. His ears felt fuzzy, but his heart was practically singing. He sucked on Dave’s full lower lip, felt a buzz starting at the base of his skull. 

Before long, Dave was grabbing at his shirt. Hal reached up to tug on the ends of Dave’s bandana—he’d forgotten to take it off. Hal undid the small knot at the back, slipped the piece of fabric off, and dug his hands into Dave’s hair. Dave was kissing him like summer lightning—powerful, bright, beautiful. 

“I’m an idiot,” Dave mumbled against Hal’s lips. He kissed Hal’s neck, hot kisses, lightly biting, groaning into Hal’s ear. Hal felt wild inside—he was hovering two feet off the ground, a laugh bubbling all over his body. “I’m sorry, Hal. I had to see if you were okay.” 

At that, Hal laughed, pulled Dave’s face to where he could make eye contact. “You really are an idiot if you’re apologizing right now.” 

Dave shrugged a little. It was the first time Hal had ever seen him sheepish. It was . . . adorable, really. 

They moved into the backseat, hands warm and exploring all over. They slowly stripped away everything that had been holding them back. Hal undressed Dave one strap, one buckle at a time, kissing each new exposed patch of skin—loving Dave’s gasp of approval each time. 

Hal kissed Dave’s lips until he could hardly move he was shaking so hard. He groaned down into his toes, for once owing only happiness to some sort of technological failure. Dave reached between the two of them, found pure heat—grasped around Hal, smooth and hot. Hal rolled his hips, pushed against Dave’s hand. Need, desire, want, relief—he gasped, on the edge of it all. 

Dave tipped him back against the seats as the sun began to hint pink above the horizon. Dave’s lips on Hal—Hal’s hands in Dave’s hair—skin against skin: together they made the clouds blush—put the sunrise to shame.


End file.
